


Seasons of Wither

by MG12CSI16



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blackhawk - Freeform, F/M, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic, Language, Mentions of Abortion, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MG12CSI16/pseuds/MG12CSI16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He likes to think that neither of them are stupid nor selfish but that hope is slowly fading little by little and in the end he realizes it doesn't even matter. Clint/Natasha and angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seasons of Wither

There's something about her apartment that's always made him feel at ease. Maybe the soft, burnt orange walls or the seemingly endless amount of books that take up every available space from the coffee table to the kitchen counter (she reads when she cooks, he's caught her off guard a few times while he's on his way out the door). Either way there's always been something about being in her presence (even if it's just until he gets dressed again) that melts away the stress of his job, his life, all of it. Except for tonight, right now as she's pacing in front of him and the muscles beneath her skin are flexing with every ounce of (Anger? Worry? Clint actually can't tell this time but any of the above are acceptable). There's a stick on the table in front of him, a little white plastic stick with two pink lines and although his mind is screaming at him and telling him that he has no idea what it means, he can feel deep down inside that he knows damn well.

She's pregnant. Of all the things that could have happened between them two it ends with this.

A baby.

Fucking great.

* * *

_It was Clint's idea the first time, he had been gone for months on a mission he barely remembers now and when he came back to find Tasha leaning against the door to his apartment wearing jeans and a t-shirt (he's always liked her better this way) something inside of him snapped. It's not the first time he's kissed her or even the first time they've slept together. It is, however, the first time that it didn't revolve around a job and there are a million different thoughts spinning around in his mind as she moans and sighs and grips his hair with enough force to make him gasp. He is the initiator, but it no way puts him in charge as he so quickly learns. She has her hands pressed against his chest, pushing him back forcefully while trying to keep her lips on hiss before moving to his chin, his neck, and even his collarbone as she sheds his shirt onto the floor before standing back and quickly stripping her own. As the situation dawns on him, drenching him like a cold, sudden rain shower Clint stops fighting with his belt and looks up at her. Tasha doesn't like attention; she'd rather get the job done and skip out on the news reports and the questions. Apparently the same can be said about his attention too because when she catches him staring, seated shirtless on his bed with the first signs of sex hair her green eyes harden._

_"What?" She snaps, arms folding over her chest and the purple lace bra she now adorns as if she has something to be self-conscious of._

_As if._

_Clint opens his mouth to say something, voice the doubts that are now flooding his mind because underneath it all, the memories and the obvious sexual tension that Tony has been more than happy to point out on several occasions, she is his friend. His best friend even and the risk of losing her is slowly losing its worth if it means a quick fuck and forgetting all about that last mission. At the same time though, in the dull grainy light of his bedroom she looks bizarrely beautiful and he simply shrugs his shoulders at her question and pulls her into his lap._

_And the rest, of course, is history._

_From there he had expected to never hear about it again, Tasha was always one to keep a lid on things that really didn't need mentioning and a one night stand with your partner that would ultimately give Tony bragging rights on his 'keen observation skills' was probably the type of thing that fell under that category. It surprised him however, when she rings him up one night, her voice a lazy purr coming through the receiver._

" _You should stop by, I ordered Chinese."_

_And it was really that easy. She calls, he comes and in between slurping lo Mein and scoffing over his fortune she casually suggests that sex becomes a regular thing, just like that. Clint freezes, draped across the other end of her couch with his mouth half-open as if he's going to say something but thought better of it at the last second and because he is a man and he has needs and because he is almost afraid of saying no to her (she does not realize how much he values her friendship and not just her body, and saying no could trigger something that shatters all of that) he readily nods his head and she settles back against the cushions and returns her attention to the TV without another word._

_And, for one heavenly year, things happen just as she suggests. He was happy, content and blissfully unaware of the consequences until now._

* * *

It's been a good five minutes since anyone has last spoken, Tasha is on the other side of the room with her arms folded and refusing to look at him. The pregnancy test is still on the table, untouched and screaming its accusations. Clint finally pulls his eyes away; flicks them up to Tasha and after a deep breath mumbles the question he dreads the answer to.

"What are we going to do about it?"

Her eyes flash, harden slightly like that first night and fade to a dark murky green. "I don't know Clint. It's not like I have experience here or anything."

She throws her arms up and falls back onto the couch, dropping her head into her hands as silence envelopes them.

"Are you going to keep it?"

At that her head shoots up but he can see that she is conflicted and she has every reason to be. He is not fatherly material, not because he has no clue how to put on a diaper or calm a crying baby, but because he has more enemies than anyone he knows and the same goes for Tasha as well. They are many things, but neither of them are stupid or selfish and bringing a baby into this world- _their_  world is just that and Clint knows this leaves them both with limited options.

Drawing in a deep breath Tasha locks eyes with him and he can almost swear he sees tears but she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hands furiously before she quietly mutters one simple word.

"No."

* * *

Pepper takes her to the clinic when she calls and stumbles over her words, the confession hushed and broken as it slipped from her lips. She is shocked to say the least and if Tasha closes her eyes she can imagine the blonde with her mouth slightly parted and running a hand through her silky hair. Of course she agrees, keeps all judgment out of her voice and Tasha is grateful for that as she hangs up the phone and presses her forehead against the wall next to the phone's receiver and groans. Clint is long gone by now, gathered his jacket soon after she revealed she wasn't keeping this baby and walked somberly toward the door without a word.

She isn't sure what he is thinking right now, it is a lot to take on in one moment and she wishes he had taken the time to listen to her explain although she is certain there would not have been much talking, she was never very good at that anyway. He is a complex person, contrary to many beliefs because beneath the seemingly solid outer shell he brandishes there is a man who has as many needs and feelings as anybody else. She thinks about calling but the odds that he is in his apartment are small, dwindling with each passing second and she mentally reprimands herself for focusing all of her attention on him because it breaks every rule she has ever set for herself.

_Unattached is synonymous with safe,_ she tells herself.

* * *

Morning comes quickly and quietly, sneaking up on her as soft light streams through her curtains and floods the room while waking her at the same time. She has slept little to none, too busy thinking and glancing at the phone all night while the temptation of calling Clint hangs heavily in her mind. She showers and dries her hair, pulls it up at the last-minute and stares at herself in the mirror, taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pale complexion. She hasn't eaten since yesterday afternoon but her stomach is too unsettled to handle anything.

_Morning sickness_ her mind laughs at her.

_Shut up_  is all she can think.

Pepper picks her up herself, a small and sad smile tugging at her lips as a soft hand brushes Tasha's shoulder tenderly. There is no talking or attempts at a conversation, just the soft sound of the radio buzzing and mixing in with the sounds of New York traffic and it is oddly soothing to Tasha as she leans her head against the seat and closes her eyes. When she opens them (it is almost ten minutes later but she was never able to tell how much time went by) she car is stopped and Pepper is looking at her with one raised eyebrow.

"You know you don't have to do this," she warns. Her voice is light and airy and it calms Tasha in a surprising way.

_She would be a good mother,_ she thinks quietly before shaking her head and moving to undo her seat belt.

"I know but honestly I just…" she trails off when her voice grows thick and Pepper nods solemnly.

For a Monday morning the clinic is fairly quiet, two other women are there, one seated by the door and her stomach is already protruding past her hips, swollen and stretching the fabric of her pink t-shirt while the other is holding a tiny baby in her lap on the far side of the room. Tasha looks away as quickly as she can. There is a mountain of paperwork to fill out but she manages with Pepper's help and when everything is turned in she sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair and taps her fingers on her leg. The walls are covered in posters on fetal development and the stages of pregnancy, all in vibrant colors and complete with illustrations.

Pepper has her nose in a book she's pulled from her purse but occasionally she will flick her blue eyes upward and check on Tasha who is almost always looking down at the tiled floor. Her heart rate is quickening, the blood pounding in her ears and the sweat slowly collecting at the nape of her neck. There are pamphlets on a rack near her head and she remembers the nurse asking her if she was familiar with the procedure and she had nodded mechanically; every one of them screaming at her until she feels her breath hitch and suddenly the room is spinning. The baby on the other side of the room is fussing now and her mother gently lifts her and soothingly rubs her back until the cries die down to hiccups and the mother smiles fondly.

Tasha wonders if she could ever look at someone like that.

She drops her head into her hands and sucks in air like she's been deprived for a lifetime and she hears the rustling of paper as Pepper drops her book.

"Tash? Sweetie are you ok?"

She forces herself to look up and exhales. "I'm fine…just feeling a bit sick."

She stands up quickly and the chair skids across the floor from the force, gaining her a few onlookers as Pepper sits up worriedly and tries gathering her purse in her arms but Tasha has already pushed the door open as the chilly winter air blows in. Tasha doesn't know what she's doing, isn't sure why the world around her is spinning or why she can't seem to accept the fact that she was actually about to do what she came here for, all she can do is turn to Pepper with her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Please just get me out of here."

* * *

His apartment seems dreary and cramped all of a sudden. There are no orange walls or shelves filled with books, there is no lingering scent of a homemade meal or laughter coming from the kitchen and it sends a pang of longing through him. He is hung over and nauseous, defeated and exhausted. There are still memories of last night that the alcohol has failed to wash away, still staining the walls of his subconscious when he thinks about the way he walked out of Tasha's apartment without a word or an attempt to change her mind.

_Heartless,_ he says.

He thinks about cleaning up a bit and ridding the place of some of the things she's left behind, he would be surprised if after any of this she still speaks to him outside of work and even then he is unsure. There's a tshirt in the hallway he has forgotten to pick up for over a week (he's been at her place, he sees no need to clean) and he laughs when he realizes it's the same one she peeled off the first time and tossed aside before slithering back into before she slipped out the door while he showered. Clint shoves himself off the couch and scoops the shirt up, the least bit surprised that it still smells like Tasha.

Orange spice and a hint of vanilla.

There is a sharp knock at the door then, the harsh rapping of knuckles against the door that grates against his skull and makes him wince. He's simultaneously grumbling under his breath while trying to keep his stomach under control (this is the last time he lets Tony suggest the bar) when he yanks the door back to stop the noise but the shirt falls to the floor when he meets green eyes.

_What the hell?_

He must have asked the question out loud because all Tasha does is shrug sadly and say "I couldn't do it."

* * *

She curls up as tightly as she can on his couch and nurses her coffee (decaf at his insistence) silently. Clint has his hands tented beneath his chin and sits in the easy chair across from her and notes the dark marks under her eyes (a contrast to her normally creamy complexion) and the tension in her muscles.

"What happened?" he finally asks, because he has held back for as long as he can.

Tasha looks up sharply as if he's startled her and bites down on her bottom lip. "I just couldn't do it," she whispers, "I just kept thinking and the more I did…" she trails off, shrugs one shoulder and looks back down towards her lap.

Clint nods slowly because he understands, or at least he likes to think that he does and because he has never seen this woman as vulnerable as she is now. Not even all those years ago when he found her hanging on to the only shred of hope and humanity she seemed to have left. He glances at the clock suddenly and realizes how late it is.

"Do you want to stay? We don't have to talk about anything until tomorrow."

She smiles slightly, looks relieved. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

* * *

He tries making pancakes but his culinary skills are second to none so in the end when he rouses her out of his bed (he refuses to let her sleep on the couch but he almost has to drag her back there) they go out to a hole in the wall diner and he orders her a stack of blueberry pancakes while she's in the bathroom. She comes back with a pale face that is tinged slightly grey and slides into the booth while trying to avoid his eyes.

"I'm ok," she assures him, "a little nauseous."

Clint wants to argue but the waitress brings their food and he shuts his mouth promptly and drowns his food in maple syrup. He expects Tasha to push hers away but despite the lack of color to her face and what he assumes was morning sickness she takes a large bite and hums in satisfaction. He waits for her to swallow before he bluntly jumps to the point and speaks around a mouthful of eggs.

"What the hell are we going to do?"

Tasha sighs and pushes her plate away, folding her arms across her chest. "There's only so much we can do."

"Adoption?" he asks assumingly.

He expects a curt nod of the head or an almost silent yes but Tasha blinks up at him and spits out a determined "no" instead.

"I can't. I know what it's like not to know your real family and have questions you don't think you'll ever get the answer to and I can't do that to my child Clint. I can't."

Her eyes are seeking out his approval desperately as he cocks his head to one side and lets her words sink in. this is the most he's ever heard her talk about herself and her past, about the things that aren't stored away in her file and are instead locked away in the confines of her memories. Calmly he nods his head before he looks up again.

"And what about us?"

The look on her face says it all, the shock and skepticism screaming at him.

He sighs and pushes away his plate. "That's what I thought."

* * *

The first few months are hell.

She is always sick and her feet have swollen beyond belief. Her back aches and she sleeps too much and then there is the icing on the cake, no more work. Altogether she is miserable and Clint is pissed at her. He hasn't said it nor has he told anyone else but Tasha is perceptive in that manner and she can tell when he's upset. He stops by every few days to make sure she eats, normally carrying grocery bags with anything he thinks she can stomach and her fridge is fuller than it's ever been while their relationship has hollowed out to nothing.

Pepper buys her books and clothes because her jeans don't fit and her shoes are the most uncomfortable things she's ever owned and because she knows nothing about pregnancy or babies. Her stomach is more than noticeable now, jutting out from between her normally slim hips and she constantly finds herself with her hands rubbing it before she realizes and quickly drops them back to her lap.

Her spare room is in the process of becoming a nursery and thanks to Tony and his slightly surprising excitement she has a crib and a dresser that is already tucked neatly into the corner. She had expected the enigmatic genius to gloat about his suspicions involving her and Clint (she suspects Pepper put an end to that before he could utter a word) but all she got was a hug and congratulations before the furniture showed up at her door a few days later.

Right now her nerves are shot to hell as she brushes her hair and sweeps it up off the back of her neck and into a ponytail and wrings her hands as she stands by the phone. Clint has never been to the appointments with her, granted she has never exactly invited him, but today feels different and she has been contemplating the call for the better part of an hour. She ends up sending a text (she is pathetic, she knows) and almost ten minutes later her phone chimes loudly and she reads it with a smile she can't fight back.

_Meet you there._

* * *

When he sees her he can't help the way his chest tightens and his hands suddenly get clammy. He feels like a hormonal teenager who can't keep his thoughts straight (more like a desperate schmuck) and clears his throat when she approaches with a soft hello. She has a coat wrapped around her but he can still see the well-defined bump she now possesses.

"How're you feeling?" he asks her casually, keeping his eyes on the patterned tile of the hospital floor.

Tasha shrugs. "Pretty good. How are  _you_?"

He blinks in surprise but shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. "As good as I can be."

It is a low blow, making jabs at her like this but he can't help it. He knew when he agreed to her arrangement that he was not signing up for an outpouring of love and the chance to make something of this relationship they had but he can't seem to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about it.

He isn't surprised when there is no more conversation.

Despite the tension from earlier he holds her hand when he sees her looking around uncomfortably as she sits on the table with her belly bare and waiting for the technician. Her skin is warm and smooth against his which is rough of calloused from years of hard work. She flinches when the green gel is put on her skin and shuts her eyes tightly when the screen first comes to life but slowly they open and her smile becomes visible. She has seen all this before but for him it is a new experience and he leans forward, seated on the edge of his chair.

All of Clint's focus is on the screen, tiny arms and legs becoming visible and the conversation between Tasha and the doctor slowly becoming muffled. This is his child, flesh and blood and hopefully everything about him that is good (if there is anything left). Finally he blinks, looks up at Tasha just in time to hear the words "little girl."

"A girl?" he echoes and the doctor nods as she takes the wand off of Tasha's stomach and cleans the gel from her skin. He must be gawking because Tasha giggles as she wriggles her hand from his sits up, pulling her shirt back down before he helps her off the table and hands her, her coat.

Before he knows it they are back outside and standing next to her car and he is smiling and peering over her shoulder at the pictures she in her hands but then he looks at his watch and his face falls when he realizes he's going to be late for a meeting with Fury if he doesn't leave now. he expects to leave with a simple goodbye and a promise to stop by sometime next week and is surprised when Tasha leans in, kisses his cheek, and slips one of the pictures into his hand. The scent of her shampoo lingers as he eagerly inhales.

"Thank you for coming."

* * *

"A girl?" Pepper shrieks into the phone. Tasha called her when she got home and the other woman was ecstatic (now that she has an idea on the sex she can buy baby clothes in bulk).

Tasha is sprawled lazily across the couch with one hand on the swell of her stomach and her feet propped up in front of her. She smiles into the phone at the sound of Pepper yelling into Tony's lab and chuckles.

"Clint came," she says suddenly and the line grows silent.

"How was he?" Pepper asks because she is a lot more intuitive than Tasha gave her credit for the first time around and she takes notice in the first few weeks.

Tasha shrugs despite the fact that no one can see and brushes back some loose hair from her face. "He was Clint more or less but he's still upset with me. I just don't know what to do; it doesn't seem fair to weigh him down with my problems and my life. Isn't sticking him with a baby bad enough?"

"Oh honey," Pepper sighs, "you know it isn't like that at all. He doesn't care what baggage you have, he never has before. I think you're just scared of what could happen if things didn't go the right way."

She pauses and Tasha can hear Tony yelling in the background.

Pepper groans. "I've gotta go but I'll call later alright?"

She hears a click and then the dial tone playing in her ear, sets the phone aside and shuts her eyes. Maybe Pepper was right and she was afraid of what could happen, of once again being alone and not even having her best friend there to smooth things down once again.

For now she thinks she's ok without an answer.

* * *

During her seventh month of pregnancy and the majority of the eighth Clint is gone on a mission and Tasha is a nervous wreck. He calls the night before he leaves, stays on the phone longer than they both intend and only hangs up after he makes her promise to be careful while he's gone. She doesn't tell anyone that she sobs when they hang up, she isn't even sure why it happened (hormones most likely) all she knows is that she held the phone to her chest and wept for a good ten minutes after before she cleaned herself up and allowed Pepper to take her shopping later that evening to get her mind off things.

That was close to two months ago and she had yet to hear anything from him although it came as no surprise. Tonight she had dinner at Tony and Pepper's, Steve and Bruce were there to and they beamed when they saw her (Steve especially). She was home now, nudging the door open with her hip and dropping her keys in the bowl by the door before she notices that something is off. Before she left she had turned all the lights off, the flat pitch black expect for the few remaining beams of sunlight that were still present. Now she could see the faint, artificial yellow glow of the bedroom light coming from the hallway and her senses were on high alert.

She can hear banging and rustling and when she steps further down the hallway she notices it's coming from the nursery and she frowns.

_What the hell?_

When she's in front of the door she slowly pushes it open and feels her heart quickening until it just about bursts and she involuntarily gasps. Clint is looking at her, covered in paint and sawdust with his hands resting on his hips with a look of triumph. Tasha isn't sure whether she should be shocked because he's there or because the nursery was no longer sporting bare walls and two pieces of furniture and instead is painted a medium shade of grey and accented with a light purple while a changing table and an old wood rocker join the crib and dresser. She finally tears her eyes away from the room and looks at Clint.

"Hey."

She swallows the lump in her throat and waves lamely. "Hey."

Tentative steps bring her closer until she can smell the sweat on him and she wraps her arms around him (as best as she can) before she buries her face in his chest. He is warm and firm against her, solid and steady and exactly what she needs. He smells of sweat and exhaustion but she can't bring herself to care because he is here and she can touch him and feel him like she's been wanting to for weeks.

"I missed you," she mumbles and he rumbles with laughter.

"Well thanks. I missed you too. Both of you." When she stands back he looks down at her stomach and back up at her before she takes his hand and presses it against the taut skin beneath her shirt.

His face transforms as she feels the baby's movements against her skin, a fluttering beneath his hand and his forehead comes to rest against hers as his hot breath hits her cheek.

"I really did miss you."

* * *

Tasha is not surprised when childbirth is just as horrible and painful as people tell her it is. She goes in to labor three days after her due date, water breaking in Tony's living room (she will never forget that look of horror on his face) before Pepper brings her to the hospital while she calls Clint for the tenth time.

He is on one last mission with Steve but they should have been back yesterday and Tasha's nerves are well beyond frayed and she's too preoccupied with contractions and the fear in her gut to figure out what's going on so she simply tosses Pepper her phone and settles in for what is probably going to be a long wait.

* * *

When he shows up she is going to kill him.

It's already decided six hours into labor when she can barely move and Tony's hand is more than likely fractured in a few places and he begins grumbling under his breath.

"I did not sign up for this."

* * *

He is almost positive she is going to kill him when he gets up the stairs.

He is late for the birth of his own daughter and his excuse is piss poor at best. He is still in his uniform but his bow is in the cab with Steve who is calling out his well wishes and waving like a maniac. The woman at the front desk looks ready to throw him out but the desperation in his voice must convince her otherwise because he ends up with a room number and directions before he is running down the hall in a blur.

The elevator is full and he has no patience so he finds the nearest stair case and clears three sets as quick as he can, bursting through the door and almost knocking over Tony who is pacing wildly. When the genius sees Clint he breathes in relief and tackles him.

"Thank god. You owe me big time pal."

Clint doesn't even want to know what he's talking about and shoves him out of the way before he burst through the door Tony had been pacing in front of just in time to hear the shrill cry of a newborn baby. There are eyes on him, nurses raising their eyebrows sternly, ready to tell him to leave until a soft voice stops them.

"It's alright, we've been waiting for him." Her voice holds mock disappointment but her smile cannot be denied because he is here like she knew he would be.

Tasha's hair is slick with sweat and her eyes mirror exhaustion but he isn't focused on that right now. All he can see is the tiny, pink bundle on her chest, crying loudly as nurses clean her and slip a tiny pink hat over a downy patch of dark hair that looks just like his own. Clint inches closer until he is right next to the bed and smiles at Tasha before he drops a kiss to the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs into her hair.

She nuzzles against him gently. "It's ok. You're here now and that's all we care about."

He bites his lip and looks at the baby-his baby who has bright blue eyes and pouty pink lips and is so genuinely  _perfect_ that he's having a hard time wrapping his head around it. His trance is broken when Tasha nudges him gently.

"Do you want to hold her?"

Clint nods and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, letting Tasha maneuver the little girl into his arms until she's resting comfortably in the crook of his muscled arm and he is lost in her face and her tiny fingers and button nose.

"Hey there little bird," he coos gently and feels his heart swell, "You are beautiful and I love you and your mother more than anything in this world."

He kissed the top of Tasha's head once more and felt tears seeping through the sleeve of his shirt as she chuckled to herself and whispered in his ear.

"And we love you too."


End file.
